Be my companion?
by Freckle-sama
Summary: Alfred, a recently turned werewolf is sent on a mission to exterminate a group of werewolf hunters. What happens when he crosses paths with a werewolf hunter who hasn't much experience at all in his work? Shall he carry on with the initial plan or not? Eventual USUK-Skyrim themed!


Cerulean eyes widened in shock at first as the initial transformation pains kicked in causing his entire system to convulse.  
This in turn made the said male fall onto the stony floor of the underforge gasping and panting, now clawing at the ceremonial font in the centre of the hideout located within the city of Whiterun.

As one of the companions more recent but rather eager recruits, the wheat haired male hadn't even listened to the apparent 'terms and conditions' of becoming a permanent member and now-well, he was currently undergoing the custom blood ritual.  
His limbs twisted, bones felt as if they were cracking.  
There probably would be at least several fractures whenever it was he'd return to his human form but he wasn't too worried about that right now-anger, all he felt was anger and the need to shred the unnecessary human skin from his form with his large claws.

Usually when one became a werewolf, some were better at controlling their emotions and controlling the 'beast within' so to speak-Alfred on the other hand was proving to be difficult.  
A howl-a terrible lonesome howl resonated off the stone walls of the underforge yet remained unheard to the fair citizens of the city who were now celebrating the recent victory of their Imperials over the Stormcloaks.  
Dancing, music, bonfires and plenty of food and mead served as one of those rare, but wonderful distractions when it would be appropriate to hold such a 'ritual'.

Now, one might ask as to why the lad would've even bothered to join such a movement?  
Well, to put it in plain back and white—he needed the gold. Why did he need that gold you'd ask? Simple, he'd left his parents' farm long ago in order to seek fortune in nearby or faraway cities whatever it took he longed to earn a respectable wage and send the majority home to help out his struggling parents.

The previous missions he'd been sent on were rather petty ones at that such as 'retrieve information on such and such' or 'Locate a certain valuable from such a place' the reason for the vagueness? Secrecy—it's the key to every organisations success after all.  
Small missions only brought in so much gold, enough to pay for food and drink for a few days but not enough to purchase his own home, horse, maybe even settle down once he found someone who'd catch his eye.

Those were all the wonderful positive thoughts swimming through his head right up until he'd taken part in the transformation ritual-who in their right mind would even want to glance at him now? Now that he was a monster, cursed with the beast form.  
The only good thing about being a werewolf was that it certainly did boost his strength, he could transform whenever he pleased and wasn't affected by the moon phases as went the typical legend of the werewolf.  
Before he'd entered the underforge Aela had informed him of his next mission he was to kill the werewolf hunters who were now located in one of the old bandit forts deep within the forests.  
The trouble with these said hunters was that they could rarely get 'leads' on their whereabouts and so—now this was their chance to wipe out at least five of the 'high up's'.

* * *

Sunlight filtered delicately through the crimson, gold and green leaves which gently swayed in the light breeze.  
Somewhere the sounds of twigs snapping could be heard, when investigated the perpetrator was found to be a mere mountain goat that had strayed too far from its other bearded friends.  
A sigh of relief could be heard as a bow and arrow were drooped downward slightly and eventually set aside again at the back of the makeshift canvas tent once all threats nearby were ruled out.  
A cloaked figure lay back down on the bed roll to catch up on another few moments rest before he was to have a simple breakfast consisting of bread, salmon steak and water—the said steaks were now heating gently over a makeshift 'cooking spit'.

He'd been sent to this secluded area in order to keep watch for any pursuers or enemies-werewolf hunters after all were hated by those who were those bloody beasts, though in another sense they were loved by various individuals who feared them—there were up's and downs to their line of work one might say.  
They'd recently disposed over quite a number of 'beasts' and had essentially caused uproar among various clusters-vampires and the inflicted were also out to get them—why? Because when crossing paths with such life forms and if one's life or a friends is put in jeopardy one will automatically rid themselves of the issue-it's live or die after all in this world.

Now enough with the 'cloak and dagger' treatment-let's introduce the said cloaked individual.  
He was known as Arthur-just Arthur. Nobody else knew of or inquired after his last names-comrades generally didn't get to live past their first year or so when assigned dangerous missions so generally most members of such 'organisations' remained distant, only treating one another as colleagues and nothing more. It was better that way after all.

The emerald eyed male was weary from the previous night in which he'd been kept awake by the sounds of something prowling about the forest-growling sounds, pained pants. Basically something that sounds as if it were bigger than the common bear or sabre cat hadn't been too far off, thus causing the said male to forfeit his supper, heat from the fire (since he'd had to extinguish it so as not to draw the thing on him) and hours of rest.

You see he was only new to this whole supernatural beast hunting business-granted he'd taken part in the previous 'slaughter-fest' as his comrades had named it but that was because it had been in a group situation.  
The smell of burning followed by the distinct sound of sizzling caused the Briton to jolt up from his dreary state-THE STEAKS-This was the third breakfast in the past week that he'd successfully made ruins of!  
A series of very colourful expletives could then be heard followed by the sound of a pot being kicked and a hiss of pain as the offending item burned him.

{I do not own Skyrim nor do I own Hetalia-I only own my imagination yadda yadda~  
Okay so this is chapter one complete, let me know what you think of it with reviews and such-ye all know the drill at this stage okay? Okay. }


End file.
